The Joke's On You, Me and Everybody
by TheGryfter
Summary: Jimmy Olsen was the casualty of a war nobody saw coming. A war that would divide the people of the Daily Planet. A war that would pit friend against friend, brother against brother, okay, this is getting out of hand. Lois V Clark! There
1. Prologue

"**The Joke's on You, Me and Everybody"**

~*~

…**prologue…**

~*~

Jimmy Olsen was the first casualty.

He was an innocent. A bystander caught in the path of two forces he could not withstand, and he paid the price.

Most surprisingly, it was Clark Kent who started the war.

Most people who knew Clark would never have dreamed he was capable of such a thing. An unassuming man by nature, he was unfailingly honest, and well-mannered without a hint of menace or mean-spiritedness.

Later, Clark would regret the part he played in what happened. He never meant for it all to get so out of control.

He would realise that a tiny action today could have repercussions that echo into the future. He cast the pebble into the still pool that caused the ripples, and Jimmy would suffer the consequences.

He wouldn't even be able to adequately explain why he did it. It was an impulse. A whim. A sudden desire.

He just didn't know.

The time for questions and recriminations would come later. Endless nights lying awake, analysing his own motives and actions – playing the hopeless game of "what if?' over and over again.

But it was useless.

He couldn't change the past.

Always, he'd come back to that day… that day when he'd done that foolish, stupid thing, and he'd ask himself 'Why?'

Why, why, why did he think it was a good idea to put salt instead of sugar in Lois' coffee?


	2. Chapter 1

~*~

…**one…**

~*~

It started with an email.

Clark, a pretty conscientious employee at the worst of times was taking a break, checking out some private mails as he sipped on his coffee and fantasised about the bear-claw Lois had just stolen from him.

Everyone has that one friend that sends them nothing but rude YouTube video clips, disgusting 'People of Wal-Mart' pictures and sexist jokes. For Clark, that friend was Pete.

Most of the time, Clark was too busy to bother opening Pete's chain-mails, so he'd either trash them, or ignore them. But he had a couple of minutes, so he clicked on one that bore the subject:

"_Things You Should Never Say To A Woman During An Argument"_

A minute later, Clark was giggling into his cup, reading the email again. He couldn't help it. It just tickled him.

At that moment, Lois was proofing an article she'd written and trying to decide if calling a spokesperson for the mayor _"More verbose than God"_ would make it past the editor's desk. She was also getting a headache.

A quick run-down of Lois' morning:

Her alarm had failed to go off, and as a result, she'd woken up twenty minutes late.

The hot water gave out five minutes into her shower, just when she'd finished shampooing.

Her coffee-pot had actually caught on fire.

Her heel broke when she got out of the cab.

Tess had chewed her out in the elevator twenty-five seconds after setting foot in the building, and…

Oh, yes…

Clark was at his desk, looking fresh, and gorgeous and carefree.

She was not in the best of moods. So, when Clark interrupted her with his silly giggling, she demanded to know what the hell was so goddamn funny.

"Just an email from Pete," Clark explained.

"Care to share?"

"Uh… no," said Clark, quickly, "It's not really… your kind of joke."

"Are you saying I'm not funny?"

"No, you're hilarious!"

Was the moron actually trying to be sarcastic? Who did he think he was? Lois settled the argument by launching out of her chair, rounding the desk, and bumping Clark out of the way with her hip – causing his chair to roll across the floor until it collided with the desk of Dan, the Obit Guy.

Clark just gritted his teeth, apologised to Dan, and rolled back as Lois read the email. She became more and more infuriated with every line she read. Clark could tell. Her face got all red and the hand clutching the mouse looked more like a claw than anything that had ever seen the inside of a nail salon.

"This is the kind of thing you find funny?" she hissed, eyes still boring into the screen.

"Well…" Clark spluttered, "Not… not funny _ha-ha_, but…"

"_You're just upset because you're putting on weight?"_ she started reading out loud, _"Don't you have some laundry to do or something…? Wait a minute, I get it! What time of the month is it?"_

Clark tried to be inconspicuous as he set his chair on a steady track back to Dan's desk.

Lois wasn't done.

"_You sure you don't want to consult the great Oprah on this one…? Whoah, looks like someone had an extra bowl of _bitch flakes_ this morning?"_

"It's just an email, Lois, you don't…"

"The last one's in your future," she cut him off, and read from the screen, _"Who are you kidding? We both know that thing isn't loaded."_

She faced him, hands on hips, a burning glare in her eyes and silently demanded that he explain himself. For some reason, Clark found her expression funny. So he giggled again.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Clark Kent," she spat, "That email is sexist, and demeaning, and insulting, and I demand that you delete it right now! And while you're at it, send a reply to your _friend_ Pete, and tell him that it's ignorant Neanderthals like him that perpetuate the stereotype that…"

Maybe it was her self-righteous indignation. Maybe it was the peppering of four-star words in a rant where she called a friend of his a caveman. Maybe it was just the fact that he was tired of being Lois' punching bag whenever he had a bad morning, but for some reason… he made a fatal mistake.

"Gee, Lois…" he muttered, "What kind of flakes did _you_ have this morning?"

Lois' reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes and nostrils flared. Her mouth curled into a snarl. She actually growled and then stamped her foot. Unfortunately, she stamped the foot clad in the shoe that had the hastily-repaired heel, and fell over.

This time, Clark knew better than to laugh.

He was out of his seat quickly, trying to help her up. Lois shooed away his hands, and got up herself. Straightening out her skirt, she marched – as much as one can march in one heel – back to her desk, and proceeded to completely ignore him for the rest of the day.

Clark found this profoundly unfair.

After all, he didn't _write_ the email. It's not like he actually thought these things, or would ever say something like that to Lois, or any other woman. But she was treating him like some beer-swilling wife-beater with leprosy.

And it got on his nerves.

In fact, it ate him up the whole day, and all that night. Lois' attitude got more and more grating the more he thought about it – which was a lot. He actually lost sleep.

Which is why, the next morning, Clark was to be found waiting for Lois at her desk with a cup of coffee ready for her. He smiled at her, and called it a peace offering.

Lois begrudgingly accepted it and took a sip.

Then, she did a classic spit-take and sprayed hot coffee all over Jimmy, who had the misfortune to be walking by at that precise moment.

In all honesty, Clark should have known better.

Historians would later declare that thus began the Lane-Kent war of '09.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so... not a typical story then. I just had this picture pop into my head of Lois doing a spit-take with a cup of coffee and splattering Jimmy. The image wouldn't go away, so I had to write a story about it. A little light-hearted break in-between episodes. This is just the beginning... oy vey... **

**Oh yeah, this one's for ImpNo1 and his Jimmy-series... we all have the right to be silly sometimes. **


	3. Chapter 2

~*~

…**two…**

~*~

_One Week Later…_

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that that's how all this happened?"

The woman's voice was laced with anger and a cold disbelief. She planted herself in a chair, back straight, her severe face topped by cold, hard eyes that never left his face.

Jimmy slumped forward, running his hand through his hair. It came away slicked with sweat.

"I swear…"

It came out in a harsh whisper, choked with desperation.

He'd already been here for an hour. The light was too bright – too hot. He'd undone the top two buttons of his shirt. His right hand drummed a crazy, broken beat on the hard surface of the desk and every time he looked up, there she was. Green eyes boring into him – not believing.

"It wasn't supposed to get so out of control."

"Out of control?" she flipped open a folder, scanning a printed list, "That's your defence? You're painting yourself as a victim because you took a spray of coffee to the face?"

"That's what happened!"

"Then why are you responsible for…?" she consulted the list, "A destroyed boardroom table, a broken elevator, four trashed computers, a supply room drenched in what they tell me is corn syrup and seventeen employees all putting in compassionate leave simultaneously? Oh, and an office chair with the wheels melted?"

Jimmy moaned as the list of 'crimes' was read out. He blinked back a mix of tears and sweat. It was supposed to happen this way. It wasn't.

"I told you," he said, "It all just got…"

"Out of control," she finished for him, "Right. You said."

She flipped the folder onto the table, where it skidded off the surface of the wood, nearly colliding with Jimmy's hand. He jerked it back like he'd been electrocuted.

"I want the full story, Olsen,' she said, "And it better be good, or the trouble you're in will put the Balkan conflict to shame."

Jimmy cringed from the look on Tess Mercer's face. She wasn't messing around. He didn't have a choice. He'd have to tell her everything.

"Fine..." he said, "After Lois shot her coffee all over me, I had to go get cleaned up…"


	4. Chapter 3

~*~

…**three…**

~*~

Clark found Jimmy in an old office just off the bullpen. He had his shirt off, and he'd wiped his face, but his hair was slicked back with coffee that was starting to dry and clump. He was staring at his bright red bow-tie with white polka dots. The bow-tie had seen better days.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," said Clark, approaching his friend and laying a hand on his arm.

"That's okay, CK," Jimmy replied, using the bow-tie to dab at his eyes.

Clark recognised the catch in Jimmy's voice, and it startled him.

"Jimmy… are you crying?"

"No!"

Meaning yes.

"Look, I know it must have hurt… that was hot coffee, and…"

"That's not why I'm crying!" blurted Jimmy, "Not that I'm crying."

"Then… what?"

"This was supposed to be a good day."

The sadness in Jimmy's voice hit Clark like a blow. He could find nothing to say, and so said nothing. Jimmy wasn't done.

"With everything that's happened this year…" he said, "My marriage that lasted four and a half minutes, watching my ex-wife run off with a psychopath, getting hooked on what really isn't anything more than souped-up allergex…"

"You got hooked on…?"

"Not important right now," Jimmy cut in, "The point is, today is my first day back at the Planet. I finally had a shot at a life again, and what happens? Five minutes in and I'm dripping a fine Columbian blend!"

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," it was all Clark could say, "It's my fault. Lois was kinda getting on my nerves, so I put salt in the coffee and that's why she spat it out. You got caught in the crossfire. I know it doesn't make up for what happened, but…"

"That's okay, CK," said Jimmy, managing a small smile, "At least you bothered to apologise."

Clark left Jimmy to his task of dabbing the dregs of coffee from his hair with the remains of his ruined shirt.

Lois was at her desk. She was glaring at her screen, furiously tapping at the edge of the desk with a pencil. Clark took his own seat, waiting for the explosion.

It didn't come.

Lois just sat there.

Tapping.

And tapping.

"I think you should apologise to Jimmy."

As soon as he said it, Clark knew it was a mistake. The tapping stopped, and an ominous wave of silence radiated from Lois desk. Clark found himself shrinking back into his chair.

"I should apologise?"

It was no more than a hiss, but Clark heard it loud and clear.

"I get humiliated in front of the whole bullpen, and _I_ should apologise?"

"I'm just saying…"

"Where's my apology, Clark?"

"What?"

"I was the victim of that juvenile prank you pulled earlier, and yet… here we are, almost an hour later, and you still haven't said one word in defence of your actions."

"That's because I don't think I need to defend myself," said Clark, deciding boldness was the best course of action, "You started it!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yesterday… going on about what a sexist I am, and what stupid friends I have…"

"That is not what I said!"

"Oh, sure, you sounded like you swallowed a thesaurus before you did it, but that was the gist," said Clark, "So you started it!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did t-! Aargh! You drive me crazy sometimes!"

"Only sometimes?" Clark huffed, "Guess I'm not up to your standards then."

Again with the eerie silence. Then Lois rose from her chair, with all the dignity of the Queen of England arising from her throne. She fixed him with a baleful stare.

"This isn't over Clark Kent," she warned, "Oh no… this has only just begun…"

With that, she strode off, out of the bullpen. Clark was feeling a strange sensation. It wasn't something he'd felt very often, so he had trouble placing it at first. Only when he really looked inside himself, identifying the times he'd felt it before – the first time he'd lost control of his speed when he was ten and ended up lost in Parker's Woods, when his dad caught him rolling the car back home past midnight after sneaking out to a late movie – did Clark realise what the unfamiliar sensation was…

It was fear.


	5. Chapter 4

~*~

…**four…**

~*~

It's a strange thing, fear.

Like a tumour, it can settle in the soul and fester… growing with each passing minute until it incapacitates you.

At least, that's what it felt like for Clark.

The festering started when Lois returned to her desk at a little past eleven o'clock. She had big, bright smile plastered to her face and made a point of greeting everyone she passed on the way.

When she sat down she offered Clark a stick of gum.

Clark declined, even though the rational part of his brain told him there was no way it could be laced with kryptonite _(It wasn't _such_ an irrational thought! It had happened before!)_

She was also chatty.

Lois usually talked a lot, but when she was at work, and concentrating, she was quiet. Focused. Instead, the entire day Clark found himself subjected to Lois Lane's opinion on everything from movies, to the disaster dress being sported by Alison in Accounts, to the weather in Burma to the Metropolis Shark's chances of another Superbowl. By three-thirty, Clark was convinced that this was her revenge policy. She was going to small-talk him to death.

The only time she ever fell quiet was when Clark again asked her if she was going to apologise to Jimmy. She was silent as the grave for thirty seconds before launching into a monologue about how – according to her research – the Green Arrow had seventeen dedicated websites jam-packed with women – and men – that wanted to sleep with him.

"Do you think that number would go up or down if they ever found out he was Oliver?" she asked.

"Um…" said Clark.

"My thoughts exactly," she said, "Anyway, you should see some of the stuff they post on there…"

And on she went. When six o'clock rolled around, Clark excused himself to go to the bathroom. He spent five minutes drenching his face in ice cold water, trying to wake up. Lois' prattling had lulled him into a walking doze and he had to patrol tonight.

On his way back to his desk, he noticed Lois was now sitting on the edge of her desk. Her skirt had hiked up so far, it exposed most of her lean, tanned, perfectly formed legs. Clark was so distracted, he almost missed his chair when he sat down.

When he sat down, he heard a squelch.

He frowned.

He tried to sit up to examine the noise, and found that he couldn't.

He was stuck.

Lois grinned, and waved a large tube of industrial strength super-glue in his face.

"Gotcha Kent!"

She hopped off the desk, grabbed her handbag and hustled out of the bullpen.

"Lois! Lois , come back here!" he called after her.

Of course, she ignored him. Clark cast around, looking for help, but the bullpen was deserted. It was past knock off time, and anyone who still had anything to do in the building would be on the upper floors. Calling any one of the higher-ups for help was not an option.

Clark could, of course, rip himself out of the chair, but then that would damage the chair. Clark's mother had drilled into him an inate sense of responsibility when it came to furniture – probably after the third time he'd accidentally broken the dining room table. He would just have to extricate himself from his pants as carefully as possible.

That's when the police scanner went off.

"_413 at Jensen's Jewellers on the corner of Fourth and Main. Suspects head east on foot, towards Rocklands!"_

Clark sighed.

Perfect!


	6. Chapter 5

~*~

…**five…**

~*~

Clark Kent was a fairly good student at school. He excelled, most notably, at Math and Science. Particularly physics. Later, Clark would come to realise that this was probably a genetic disposition, having been descended from a race of uber-scientists that had long ago conquered space-travel and studied the technologies and philosophies of various galaxies.

He also had a photographic memory, and at 8:45 am, the following morning, he was busy recalling, in excruciating detail, a particular passage lifted from his senior physics textbook, detailing the definition of friction:

"_Friction is not a __fundamental force, as it is derived from __electromagnetic force __between charged particles, including __electrons, __protons, __atoms, and __molecules. When contacting surfaces move relative to each other, the friction between the two surfaces converts __kinetic energy __into __thermal energy, or __heat."_

The reason for Clark's back-to-school internal monologue is that he was, at that very moment, straining to force his now ruined office chair through the emergency hatch in the ceiling of the Daily Planet elevator.

The chair itself was less than useless now.

"Stupid super-speed…" he grumbled, "Stupid friction… stupid melting wheels… stupid criminals who don't stop when you yell, 'Hey, stop!'…"

In Metropolis, a 413 denoted an armed robbery – a severe crime – so when the call went out last night, Clark had no choice but to move into what he now thought of as 'Blur-Mode' immediately. Extricating himself from the chair first would have wasted valuable seconds and could have put innocent lives in danger.

The problem, in essence, was with the construction of the chair itself. Actually, no, that's not quite accurate. The problem was that the chair was never built to stand up under the severe pressure of moving faster than the speed of sound. By the time he'd caught the erstwhile robbers, the wheels had melted into the support struts and the whole thing smelled like a plastic factory had caught on fire.

So Clark was stashing the evidence.

He finally managed to wedge it into the gap on top of the elevator and closed the hatch. He hit the button for the elevator to restart and continued his descent to the basement. He'd just stepped off the elevator and was making his way down the stairs when his day got worse.

"Hey, CK!" Jimmy hustled up to him, "Did you see the front page today?"

"No," Clark admitted, "I haven't had a chance."

"Well…" said Jimmy, "Apparently our local superhero's a bit of a plagiarist."

"What?"

Clark grabbed the newspaper Jimmy was holding and scanned the front page. The headline almost screamed at him:

"_BLUR NOW COPYING BATMAN!"_

"What?" Clark blurted again.

"The Blur nabbed two perps who tried to jack a jewellery store last night," Jimmy explained, "But apparently, he's got a new M.O. He's using a fancy, high-velocity vehicle now, like the Batman!"

"That psycho with the rodent fetish from Gotham?" Clark couldn't believe his eyes, or ears.

"Yeah," Jimmy grinned, "The guys told the cops all about it. It was like a super-fast cycle, or something, that made this screeching noise and shot fire out the back."

Clark groaned. He was getting a headache, and he hadn't even clocked in yet. He slapped the paper against Jimmy's chest and carried on into the bullpen. Jimmy reversed his direction, heading back up the stairs.

"I'm gonna go see Terry up on fourth," said Jimmy, "He's a Batman nut and I bet he's crowing to the high hills about this."

Clark ignored him. He just wanted to get to his desk.

When he got to his desk, he had no chair.

Clark snarled.

He checked around. Everyone was intent on either reading the paper or performing some or other menial task. Nobody was paying him the slightest attention.

"The hell with not using my powers in front of people," he thought.

A quick burst of super-speed into an empty office, and Clark was back at his desk with a replacement chair. He wasn't completely happy with it. For one thing, it was well-oiled and didn't squeak. How was he supposed to annoy Lois with a chair that didn't squeak?

Lois!

Clark growled.

And speak of the she-devil…

"Hey, Smallville…" she drawled, strutting into the bullpen, "_Stuck_ here all night?"

"Almost," Clark replied, trying his level best to keep a level tone, "I suppose you think your little stunt was funny?"

"Well, it wasn't funny _ha-ha…_" she mocked, mimicking his defence of Pete's email. Then she pulled a face, "No, actually it _was_ funny _ha-ha!_ It was so funny _ha-ha_ I _ha-ha'ed_ my ass off last night!"

With her smarmy smirk still plastered to her face, Lois checked her chair for any Clark retribution, before taking her seat and switching on her PC. Clark kept himself firmly in line with his own PC so that the monitors blocked their line of sight. However, he was using his x-ray vision to glare at her. He was surprised his heat vision hadn't kicked in and spontaneously combusted the 17 inch in front of him.

"Just remember, Lois," said Clark, "Payback's a… well…"

Lois laughed, delighted.

"You can't even say it, can you?" she teased, "Payback's a _bitch_, Clark! And so am I!"

Clark didn't disagree with that.

He concentrated on trying to get some work done. A few minutes later, Jimmy strolled back into the bullpen. He greeted Clark, but promptly ignored Lois as he made his way into the deserted office he usually used to clean his camera equipment. A minute later, Clark and Lois whipped around when they heard a loud thump, and the sound of a bottle – like a lens solution bottle – smashing on the floor, followed closely by Jimmy's irate yell:

"Hey! Who stole my chair?!"


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hey guys. Apologies for the extremely long delay. Real life just has a way of interrupting fanfiction. Don't you hate that? Anyway, here's a short little chapter to keep you going. There should be two more chapters up by tonight. Thanks for all the great reviews! You guys are awesomeness personified!

* * *

~*~

…**six…**

~*~

Clark took to hiding out in the break room.

It wasn't because of fear of Lois.

It wasn't.

It wasn't!

I'm telling you _it wasn't_, dammit! Aargh!

Rather, it was fear for the bullpen. Clark was raging inside, and he knew that if he got any angrier there was a serious danger that he might set the whole place on fire. So, he retired with a notepad and a pen to the break room on the second floor and did his work longhand.

Not that he was getting much work done.

Clark's notepad was filled with scribbles, but they read something like this:

* * *

"_**HOW TO GET BACK AT LOIS! BIG TIME!"**_

**Find a way to dye her hair pink!**

_Clark had to smile at this one. He'd heard Lois complain a number of times about Lana's preoccupation with the colour pink, and watching her walking around as a living testament to the young cheerleader's favourite colour would be sweet revenge indeed. _

**Melt all Lois' Whitesnake CD's.**

**Melt **_**every**_** Whitesnake CD so she can't replace them!**

**Get David Coverdale's - Whitesnake's lead singer's - autograph and burn it in front of her.**

**Call Lucy and invite her over for an extended visit.**

_Okay, that one was a little mean, but it showed just how angry he was. _

**Glue her lips together, for the good of all mankind!**

* * *

"Jeez, CK! Angry much?"

Clark nearly jumped out of his chair. People were _not_ supposed to sneak up on him! He had super-hearing for goodness sakes! He must have been really preoccupied.

Swiftly crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bin, Clark turned to face Jimmy.

"Just doodling, Jimmy," he said, "That's all."

"You're going about this all wrong," said Jimmy, sliding into the chair next to Clark and leaning into him, in what Jimmy supposed was a conspiratorial way – but in reality just made Clark uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Jimmy began, "The plans you have are all, um… good. Psychotic, maybe, but good! They're too personal, though."

"Jimmy, this is way beyond personal!"

"You think you have to tell me that?" Jimmy retorted, "I still smell like a mocha blend!"

"Okay, sorry," said Clark, "Well, what do you recommend?"

"I think it's time we pool our resources, and get really creative."

Clark found himself drawing back from the mad gleam in Jimmy's eye. His young friend looked on the verge of cackling out a maniacal laugh.

"I know what Lois did was… wrong," said Clark, "But… don't you think you're the one taking this too personally?"

"She deserves it," Jimmy spat, "She really does! She's so… snippy, and, and… and condescending, and so freakin' tall, it's just annoying! It's time someone took her down a peg or two!"

"And that's our job?"

"Kent and Olsen – the dynamic duo!" Jimmy grinned.

Clark found himself grinning too. He had an ally!


	8. Chapter 7

~*~

…**seven…**

~*~

Something was up. Lois could tell.

Though still stuck in the basement, Lois Lane was a reporter on the rise. She'd gained a reputation for sniffing out a story where no one else saw anything newsworthy. She was able to do so because she possessed a sixth sense, of sorts.

Growing up as an army brat, that sense was honed through years of aimless drifting. Shifted from base to base, and school to school throughout her formative years, Lois had been forced to adapt. Forever the new kid on the block, she was able to sense trouble before it started – along with the ability to analyse situations and decide on appropriate countermeasures in advance.

It was a survival technique, and it was serving her well right now.

Clark was acting shifty, and so was Jimmy.

They were both notorious for leaving the office later than most, along with Lois herself. But that evening, they'd mumbled hasty, nonsensical farewells and scuttled off before anybody else. Including Jeff, the intern, who usually made it home before rush hour had even started.

Something was up with them, and Lois was determined to find out what.

~*~*~*~*~

"I'm telling you, it's never gonna work!"

"Why not?"

"The logistics alone make it completely implausible!"

"Logistics? You're letting a little thing like logistics stand in the way of our righteous cause?"

Clark fixed Jimmy with a baleful stare.

"Seriously, Jimmy," he said, "You've got to stop talking like that. We're not the Knights Templar!"

"I know…" Jimmy grumbled, "Would be cool if we were, though…"

Clark sighed, and went back to the list he and Jimmy had so painstakingly put together over the last few hours.

"We'd get to wear cool outfits…" Jimmy went on, barely audible at this point, "We'd get swords. I'd like a sword. Swords are cool. And horses…"

"I thought you were allergic to horses."

"I am, but if I was a Templar, I wouldn't be…"

"Look, can we just focus, please?"

"Fine," Jimmy straightened up in his chair, and peered at the list.

"I think we need to keep it simple," said Clark, "The best form of attack is always the most basic."

"What? Like put a whooping cushion on her chair? That's not going to get it done!"

"Well, neither is this!" Clark tossed the notes onto the table, "I mean… where are we supposed to even find a vat full of chocolate milk, a thirty-two foot stepladder, three dummy nuclear warheads and a half-foot scale model of a Chinook helicopter?"

"I don't know! E-Bay?"

Clark sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He was starting to feel cramped, and claustrophobic. Not hard to do in Jimmy's tiny apartment. Although _apartment_ was a bit of a stretch. Extended closet was closer to the truth.

Outside Jimmy's front door, Lois snuck away, giggling to herself. Surveillance in this place wasn't a problem. The apartments were so small, and stacked so closely together, she could probably have heard Clark and Jimmy arguing from the street. She'd followed them in the hope of discovering their plan, and then thwarting it. Not necessary now. Those two were their own worst enemies. Shaking her head at a good stakeout wasted, Lois headed home.

Back inside, Clark called for a break.

"Let's watch some TV, or something," he said, "I'm getting a headache."

They squashed together on the tiny couch, and Jimmy flicked on the TV.

"What's this?" asked Clark.

"Oh, that dumb Drew Barrymore horror movie," said Jimmy, "The one where she gets killed in the first ten minutes."

"Oh yeah," said Clark, "I liked it. Never get to watch these types of movies anymore."

"Why not?"

"Lois hates horror movies."

"What?"

"I know, right?" said Clark, "Mad Dog Lane, you'd think she was a sucker for this type of stuff. But the first sign of a knife-wielding maniac on-screen and she…"

Clark trailed off, and stared into space for a bit. His mouth was open, like a freshly-landed fish. Slowly, as though his head were on a ball-bearing, he turned to look at Jimmy. Jimmy had the same distant, yet ecstatic expression on his face. They both smiled.

"Oh, it is so _on!" _said Jimmy.


	9. Chapter 8

~*~

…**eight…**

~*~

Metropolis. The dead of night.

As the city of teeming millions lulls itself to sleep – secure behind it's bolted doors, and bright, bright lights – it ignores the creeping shadows.

And whatever lurks therein.

Lois, clad in sweatpants and a baby-tee, switches off the kitchen light and as she pads through the darkened living room, intent on sleep. She yawns, and rubs her eyes.

The sharp cackle of the phone startles her, loud and discordant as it shatters the silence.

She pauses to take a breath, peering into the corners, trying to make sense of the shapes in the shadows as her heart rate spikes.

Cursing herself, she crosses back into the little alcove by the kitchen, where a pale beam of moonlight spills through the huge bay windows. She picks up the phone.

"Hello?"

"_What's your favourite scary movie?"_

The voice is strange… distorted. Not like the Blur, it's higher in pitch, and creepy. Lois pulls a face.

"27 Dresses," she says, "What's yours?"

"_27 Dresses?"_

"Yeah, have you seen that movie? That chick is such a push-over! Who agrees to be a bridesmaid 27 times? Are you kidding me? It's like getting 'Kick Me!' tattooed on your forehead and then lying down for the count! I don't think…"

"_Hey, I'll have you know that that movie has heart, and a wicked sense of comedic…"_

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

The second voice was new. Also muffled, as though Lois' creepy-night-time-phone-stalker had someone standing right next to them.

"Look," said Lois, "This is beyond lame, so why don't you…?"

"_Do you want to die tonight, Lois?"_

"What?"

"_You can't just say it like that?"_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because… you have to… build up to it!"_

"_Hey! Do you wanna do this?"_

"_I'd do a better job than you!"_

Lois sighed, as she listened to the bickering taking place on the other end of the line.

"Jimmy!" she said, "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. Why don't you and Clark just write a script and call me back when you…?"

"_Who's Jimmy?"_

"Oh, very original…" Lois Drawled, "Okay, I'll play your game. Who is this?"

"_Uh…"_

Lois waited.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four…

"_Uh… I like that baby-tee you're wearing."_

"Pervert!"

She hung up, and went to bed.

On the roof of the building across the street, Clark smacked Jimmy upside the head. Jimmy yelled.

"Ow!"

"You're an idiot!" said Clark.

"Well, next time, you make the creepy phone call!"

"That was creepy for the wrong reasons!"

"Oh yeah, coz you're such an expert!" Jimmy shot back, "And why do you have a voice modifier anyway?"

"Uh…"

Jimmy waited.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Four…

"Uh…"


	10. Chapter 9

~*~

…**nine…**

~*~

_Present Day._

"You're stacking up quite the list of crimes, aren't you, Olsen?"

Jimmy sank back into his seat, keeping a beady eye on Tess as she rounded the corner of the desk and came towards him. Jimmy's breath hitched as she leaned down, her face now mere inches from his own. Her perfume was terrifying.

"Not only have you violated office policy," she said, her voice like silk and sandpaper, "But it looks like you might be facing charges as well."

"F–for what?"

"Hanging out on rooftops, peering in on young women in their underwear…"

"She wasn't wearing underwear!" Jimmy cut in, "Just the stuff she sleeps in! I wouldn't have looked if she was in her underwear! I don't think I could handle that!"

"I'm not sure a jury will see it that way," said Tess.

"A jury?" Jimmy gulped, "Do… do you really think a jury needs to get involved in this? I mean, it's just a little office rivalry."

"Is that all it is?"

"Well…" Jimmy looked guilty.

"Yes…?" Tess prompted.

"It got…" Jimmy took a breath, trying to steady himself, "It got a little more complicated after that. See? It was kinda hard facing Lois the next day…"


	11. Chapter 10

~*~

…**ten…**

~*~

Angela Pearson had been at the Daily Planet for little over six months. An intern straight out of college, she hailed from New Brunswick, and was generally a perky, bubbly addition to the bullpen.

She had a routine that she followed every morning when she came into work. She'd grab a sweetened tea from the dispenser, sit down at her desk and eat a corn rusk as she read the daily inspirational emails her sister sent her from back home.

It was hard being so far away from her family, but Angela was living her dream and got through the day with more smiles than frowns.

On this particular morning, she sat in her chair, set her tea down with one hand and fired up her computer with the other. Then she carefully unwrapped the rusk and turned to toss the wrapper into the trash receptacle under her desk.

Then she screamed.

Her early morning routine never included a tufty-brown haired young man with shifty eyes hiding under her desk.

"Shh!" Jimmy hissed, gesturing desperately for her to calm down and stop drawing attention to herself.

"What are you doing?" Angela hissed right back as she crossed her legs, which were far too exposed when viewed from only a couple feet off the ground.

Jimmy ignored her, and lowered himself carefully to the floor, peering under the desk, where he could see the back of Lois' chair. She was typing away intently, and hadn't even bothered to turn around when Angela screamed.

Trying to move as fast, yet as quietly as possible, Jimmy leopard-crawled out from under Angela's desk, crossing the six feet of floor space until he was blocked by the desk of Mark Aaronson (of East Rutherford, New Jersey, if you're interested).

"What the hell are you doing, Olsen?"

Mark sounded irritated. Jimmy didn't care.

"None of your business," he spat, before executing a perfect tumbler's roll until he came up against the bank of filing cabinets running against the wall. Keeping his back flat to the face of the cabinets so he could watch Lois' every move, Jimmy crabbed sideways, one lurching movement at a time until he'd crossed the breadth of the bullpen.

He was now pressed against the wall next to the storage cupboard and, eyes still fixed on the fiery brunette across the room, Jimmy reached up, fumbling blindly for the handle. He scrabbled at it until it caught, and then fell sideways into the darkened interior, pulling the door closed behind him.

For the first time in what seemed like hours, Jimmy allowed himself to breathe as he stood up, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the total darkness.

"What are you doing?"

To say that Jimmy screamed like a little girl would be an insult to little girls everywhere.

He shrieked, jumped backward, collided with a row of stacked shelves that bounced him forward again, where he smashed into an even harder surface before collapsing to the floor in a gasping, trembling heap.

"Jimmy? Are you okay?"

Clark bent down and tried to lift Jimmy to his feet as gently as possible.

"CK?" Jimmy squinted, just able to make out Clark's face in the gloom, "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I asked you first," said Clark.

"Yeah, well… I asked you second."

"So?"

"So!"

"Jimmy…"

"You scared me half to death!"

"Well, what do you expect, sneaking into a dark storage cupboard? This is all your fault, really!"

"My fault?"

"Yeah!"

"Are you hiding from Lois?"

"No…" Clark's protest was just the tiniest bit squeaky.

"You're hiding from Lois!" Jimmy could hardly believe it.

"Yeah, well… so are you!"

"At least I have the excuse that she's bigger than me!"

"If you think that makes any…"

The door opened. Lois grinned at them.

"Hi boys!"

"_Aargh!"_

They both screamed. Jimmy bounced off the shelves again. Clark didn't so much bounce off them as flatten them.

Lois tsked, bent down, retrieved a pack of staples and walked away, closing the door behind her again. Clark and Jimmy sat in the dark, willing their ragged breathing to calm down. After an infinity, Jimmy finally broke the silence:

"Do you think she saw us?"

Clark groaned.

~*~*~*~*~

_20 Minutes Later. _

"We have to get out of here sometime," said Clark.

"Nu uh," Jimmy shook his head, "I say we stay in here forever."

Almost as if to affirm his point, Jimmy had gathered himself quite comfortably on the floor, where he was building a mini-fort using boxes of pencils.

"What if we get hungry?" asked Clark.

"We can eat the boxes," said Jimmy, "They're fibrous. Good for you. Keep you regular."

"You wanna be regular and stay in here forever?"

"Uh…"

"This is ridiculous!" said Clark, "I mean, it's only Lois!"

"It's only Lois?" Jimmy gaped, "It's _only_ Lois?!"

"Yeah, she's just one woman," said Clark, "And she has us hiding out in here like a coupla kids afraid of the bogeyman."

"Bogeywoman…"

"Whatever!"

"You know what? You're right," said Jimmy, destroying his fort with a righteous flick of his hand, "We're not scared of her!"

"No!"

"We can stand up for ourselves!"

"Yeah!"

"We can leave this cupboard anytime we want to!"

Silence for a while, then:

"So… what? We give it another five minutes, or so?"

"I think so."

~*~*~*~*~

Lois was on the phone.

"You gotta be kidding me! You know what a nightmare he is!" she idly twirled a lock of hair around her index finger as she listened to the response, "Because everyone who's gone down there came back threatening to quit, and I don't…"

"Lois! We're taking a stand!"

Lois looked up. The voice she'd heard was obviously Jimmy's, but all she could see was Clark.

"Listen, Nate…" she spoke into the receiver, "I'll have to call you back."

Hanging up, Lois frowned at her erstwhile partner.

"Now, we're willing to set aside our feud if you agree to certain terms."

Again, it was Jimmy's voice, but the bulk of Clark Kent took up the whole of Lois' view.

"What are you?" Lois smirked at him, "The muscle?"

Now she saw Jimmy's head peeking out from behind Clark's broad back.

"Do you want to hear the terms , or not?" demanded the young photographer.

"Set aside our feud?" Lois cackled, "It's not a feud. That implies that there are two sides fighting, and this has been pretty one-sided so far."

"Oh, yeah? Well…" Jimmy looked up at his best friend, "Clark?"

"I got nothing," Clark admitted.

"Relax guys," Lois tried a soothing tone of voice, which caused both Clark and Jimmy to back up a step, "I'm willing to call a truce. In fact, I was just about to come looking for you."

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-why would you do that?" Clark stammered.

"I'm passing on an assignment," Lois explained.

"What assignment?"

Without even realising it, Clark and Jimmy had retreated almost three feet away from the desk. Maybe it had something to do with the smile on Lois' face. Gazelles saw that look on lions all the time.

"An interview with Antonio Valencia," said Lois, "Yes, _the_ Antonio Valencia. It'll probably be the main spread in the lifestyle section. Big, glossy photos and a 5000 word two-pager. It's yours if you want it."

"Why would you give up such a big article?" asked Clark, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I thought it would make a nice peace offering," said Lois, "But if you two don't want it, I'll just call Terry to go with me, and…"

"No, no! We want it!" Clark cut her off quickly.

"But if this is some kind of game, Lane!" Jimmy strode out from under Clark's shadow, slamming his camera case down on her desk. He'd hoped for the gesture to come out menacing, but instinctive concern over his camera caused him to set it down with nothing more than a mild thump.

"No games," said Lois, "You're meeting him at his downtown studio at two. You should probably grab some lunch now, so you can get there on time.

Jimmy and Clark eyed her for a long moment, before breaking out in identical smiles of satisfaction.

"Thanks Lois," said Clark, genuinely impressed with her generosity.

"Let's grab a couple burritos, CK. We can meet back here, and go over a game plan."

Chatting happily to themselves, Jimmy and Clark strode out the bullpen. Lois' smile remained fixed as she watched them go, before her eyes drifted slowly downwards until they came to rest on Jimmy's camera case, still sitting on her desk.

"Suckers..." she chuckled.


	12. Chapter 11

~*~

…**eleven…**

~*~

Clark and Jimmy strode down the bustling sidewalk, in Metropolis' theatre district. Just off the riverfront, the area was clean, with quaint café's dotting the street, sandwiched between antique stores, bookstores and a multitude of art galleries. It was the Metropolis equivalent of SoHo, or Notting Hill, and every person that passed them was either decked out head to toe in expensive couture, or shabbily dressed in ripped jeans, and manky t-shirts that were probably more expensive than the couture items sported by their counterparts. It was snooty, and pretentious and reeked of money.

"I think that's it," said Jimmy, pointing at a large storefront across the street. The street-facing side of the store was made completely from frosted glass, boasting the name _Valencia's_.

"Is this guy really that big a deal?" asked Clark.

"According to the quick Google search I did, he's the hottest artist in the country," said Jimmy, "All the classic signs too. A recluse who keeps away from the media, the brooding tortured genius…"

"A walking-talking cliché, you mean?" said Clark.

"Pretty much."

"So, why did Lois hand over an interview with such a prominent celebrity?"

"You don't think she's on the level?" asked Jimmy.

"I dunno," Clark admitted, "She can be really generous. I know that. But she even went to the trouble to give me pages of sample questions."

Clark flipped through the notepad he was carrying. Several pages were covered in Lois' distinctive scrawl.

"I don't see how it can be a trick," said Jimmy, "He's an artist. What can he do to us?"

They crossed the street, and then hesitated. There didn't appear to be a front door. Just the big glass wall.

"Uh… how do we get in?" Jimmy pressed his face up against the glass, trying to peer inside.

Suddenly, they heard a loud buzz, and a section of the wall snapped outward, smacking Jimmy in the face.

Grinning, Clark gripped the now-exposed edge, pulling it open. Rubbing his throbbing nose, Jimmy followed him inside.

The gallery itself was an absolute disaster. For a second, Clark thought Valencia had been burgled. Pots of paint were scattered all over the place, some on the floor, some on the various ladders snapped out in front of giant canvases that covered the walls. Some half-finished paintings still rested on their easels in the middle of the space. Parts of the floor were covered in plastic to catch errant drops. Then, Clark noticed a few of the paintings had price-tags on them. They were mixed right in with others that were obviously nowhere near completion. Clark fought off a sudden attack of dizziness.

"Er… hello?" Jimmy called, "Anyone here?"

"You here to buy, you look at de price, you deal wit' de woman who handle de money, you don't bother me, no?"

Clark and Jimmy swung round, startled. A tall, pale, emaciated young man with a floppy Mohawk in expensive tortoise-shell glasses and wearing what looked like a toga had suddenly appeared behind them.

"Er… sorry," said Clark, "The door kinda opened, and…"

"Oh, no, no, no, dear boy…" the man veritably drooled, "My mistake! Forgive me! You are obviously here for the nude!"

"I'm sorry? The nude?"

"Yes! Yes! Look at you! You are obviously what I ordered!"

Clark was taken aback. So far aback, he couldn't see affront. He caught Jimmy sniggering behind him, and forced himself to focus.

"I'm sorry," said Clark, again, "I'm afraid there's been a mistake…"

"No, no mistake…" the man took a step forward, raising his arms as though displaying Clark to an appreciative audience, the way a tour-guide in a museum might point out a particularly stunning work of art, "Look at you! The symmetry, the form, the power of your masculine package!"

Now Clark heard Jimmy almost choking behind him, and felt a rush of disturbing heat rise up into his face.

"I'm not a model!" Clark protested.

"You lie!" said the man.

"Are you Antonio Valencia?"

"But of course!"

"I'm Clark Kent, from the Daily Planet," Clark waved his press ID in the man's face, noting with relief that it caused him to back off some, "I'm here to interview you. The giggling fool behind me is my photographer."

That shut Jimmy up.

"Forgive me, forgive me," Valencia drawled, switching on the most insincere smile Clark had ever seen, "Is my mistake. Of course. The Daily Planet. Fine paper. I use it to catch paint drops sometimes."

Clark chose not comment on the obvious slur against his place of employment.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" he asked, trying to get back on even footing.

"Of course, of course," said Valencia, striding off into the recesses of the gallery, "But not here, no! This space is for creative juice, not hack juice!"

Clark and Jimmy had no choice but to follow. They tried not to touch anything as they side-stepped various paintings in varying stages of, well… being painted, until Valencia stepped through a rather plain looking door in back. Once inside, Clark and Jimmy had to stop, sure that they weren't seeing right.

The room was quite large, but bare. There was a sleeping bag in the corner, resting on nothing but the concrete floor. A couple of books next to the sleeping bag. On the top-most one _(Love in the Time of Cholera)_ was the most overstuffed ashtray they had ever seen. In the opposite corner, there was a plain metal tub, filled with water. Next to it, a gas stove and a beaten wrought-iron kettle.

"You… you live here…?" Jimmy was incredulous.

They'd caught sight of some of the prices on the paintings on their way through, and the sale of even one of them could put Valencia several rungs above… _this_.

"Of course not," Valencia chuckled, "I live in the paintings wit' de muses!"

It took all of Clark's self-control not to roll his eyes.

"Well, Mr. Valencia…" he said.

"Please, you do not have to be like dat wit' me…" Valencia interrupted, "You can call me Antonio, or Valencia, or guru if you like."

"Um… Antonio," Clark took refuge in Lois' notes as Jimmy dug his camera out of it's case, "Your fame's spread far beyond Metropolis by now. To what do you attribute your success?"

"Oh, to many things," said Valencia, stooping to lift a glass of water from beside the kettle. He took generous sips as he paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly, "My genius, for one, cannot be contained, but that is obvious, no?"

"Obviously," Clark muttered, as Jimmy again tried not to laugh.

"I think de people of dis world are findin' their way back to art as it is, and should be…"

Clark had no idea what the man was talking about, but dutifully took notes, as he droned on.

"We come back now to a world of beauty and wonder!" Valencia went on, "I see it in everything!"

Clark also noted that the man's heavy accent was inconsistent, and sometimes he forgot to place the right stresses on the right words.

"Of course," said Valencia, "Some beauty is obvious!"

Putting the glass down on the floor, Valencia slithered up to Clark, a snaky smile forming on his face.

"In you, for instance…" he grinned, "A blind man could see the wonder that is dis form!"

Before Clark could react, Valencia had his hands on his chest, and was rubbing them slowly down the ridges of Clark's pectoral muscles.

Jumping back with a yelp, Clark flipped over the page in his notebook, looking for a question, any question, that might lead him away from dangerous ground. Without bothering to check what he was reading first, Clark just blurted out the first thing he saw.

"Do you find me desirable enough to touch me with your majestic brush?"

Jimmy almost dropped the camera. Clark's eyes almost popped as his lungs suddenly forgot how to work. Valencia looked like all his Christmases had come early. There were even tears in his eyes.

"Dear boy, I know that genius is appealing, but I had no idea…"

He started stalking Clark again. In a complete panic now, Clark looked to Jimmy to rescue him, having lost any control over his own thoughts, nevermind his faculties.

"Umm, er…" Jimmy blubbered. Then he raised his camera, "Sir, I think we need a photo. You know? For the article?"

Valencia turned a beady, unimpressed eye on Jimmy. It was like he'd forgotten the young snapper was there. With a huff of pure disdain, Valencia flicked his Mohawk, raised his non-existent chin and said:

"If you must."

"Great!"

Jimmy lined Valencia's image up in the frame, adjusted the focus, and hit the button.

The light that followed was so bright, it was like a flare going off in the cramped room. Clark had to put his arm over his face as he stumbled backwards. It was like the sun had taken up residence for a few seconds, and even with their eyes closed, Clark and Jimmy could still see the searing white pattern of the walls painted across their retinas.

Clark had to shake himself to try to focus. Then he heard screaming. Terrible, anguished screaming.

"_Aargh! Aiyeeee! You have blinded me! Blind, I am, and shall be! Aiyeeee!"_

Valencia was bumbling around, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes as the other groped frantically at the air.

"_The light of dis city so cruelly snuffed out by… by a heinous light! You heathen! What have you done to me!"_

"Gee, I… Sir, I'm so sorry…" Jimmy stammered.

"_A thousand apologies shall not make up for the joy you have robbed the multitude! I curse you, heathen! Oh, the pain! The pain!"_

Desperate now, Jimmy swung to Clark, looking for guidance. Clark just stood there, stunned. He had a lot of experience in a lot of extreme situations. But nothing had ever prepared him for a prima-donna artist with temporary blindness throwing a hissy fit.

Giving up on Clark, Jimmy scanned the room.

"_John Milton spoke of dis, and I hear his cries now from beyond the grave! One tortured soul to another!"_

Spotting Valencia's glass of water, Jimmy scooped it up and, stepping in front of the artist, he threw the contents in his face.

"_Aaaargh! The pain! It burns! It burns!"_

"What?"

Lifting the glass, Jimmy took a sniff.

"Seriously? Vodka?" he shook his head, "It's like two in the afternoon!"

"Jimmy," Clark grabbed his friend by the arm, "I think we should get out of here."

"_Yes, flee, you mortals! Flee like the Turks from the glory of Zion which you have sundered!"_

Clark and Jimmy didn't need a second invitation. Leaving the madman to bounce off his own walls, they hurried through the gallery, not being nearly as careful not to touch the paintings this time. The seamless glass wall was back in place, but Clark was in no mood to be delayed. He shoved at a section, ignoring the grinding noise of the hidden hinges as it swung open. They stepped out into the street, beating a hasty retreat back downtown.

Clark was furious. Beyond furious. It was all a setup!

"Lois…" he growled.

"She got us good this time," said Jimmy.

Clark shoved a crowd of hippies out of their way. The hippies shouted in protest. Clark saw that they were gathered around a man in a black cat suit. His face was whitewashed, except for a nauseating smile drawn on in garish red lipstick.

A mime!

The mime made a rude gesture at Clark. Annoyed now, Clark took a menacing step forward.

"Learn the words!" he spat.

The mime ran away. Clark was glad.

"Don't worry, Jimmy," said Clark, "Lois will get what's coming to her. I can guarantee it."

Later, Jimmy would admit that he was more than a little concerned by the almost manic glint that had suddenly appeared in Clark's eyes.


	13. Chapter 12

~*~

…**twelve…**

~*~

If Jimmy had known Clark's secret, or the truth behind his friend's double-life, he wouldn't have been surprised by what happened next. Jimmy, like everyone else, considered Clark to be the most honest, straightforward person they knew. They couldn't know that years of hiding his abilities, and then his alien identity, had turned Clark into the consummate actor.

True, he was always uncomfortable openly lying to the people he cared about, but when he needed to, Clark could lie with the best of them.

So, Jimmy was more than a little taken aback when the fuming, spitting, twitching, furious Clark Kent disappeared the moment the elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the basement of the Daily Planet.

Plastering a big, terrifyingly sincere smile on his face, Clark made his way back the twin-desks he shared with Lois. It looked like she was fighting a massive internal battle, and it was taking everything she had not to burst into hysterical giggles at the sight of the reporter and the photographer returning from their interview with Metropolis' resident artistic nut-job.

"So… how did the interview go?" Lois' voice could have melted butter, cream… pretty much the cow they both came in, actually.

"Great," said Clark, not missing a beat as he tossed his notepad on the desk and sat down.

Jimmy kept quiet, just watching them like a spectator at a tennis match.

"Really?" said Lois, "I heard Antonio Valencia was pretty difficult to deal with."

"He likes to be called guru," said Clark, "Once you get past that, the guys a breeze."

"Really?"

For the first time, Lois' smile cracked, and she sounded unsure.

"I got the story right here," said Clark, waving his notepad, "I just have to type it up. Thanks again for the opportunity, Lois. Jimmy and I really appreciate it."

Lois looked at Jimmy, and he realised his mouth was open. He promptly shut it and tried to smile. It came out as a grimace.

"Ggrglepltz…" said Jimmy, by way of agreement.

Lois' eyes drew out into slits and, quick as a cat, she snatched the notepad out of Clark's hands.

"Let me see that."

"_Uh oh…"_ thought Jimmy, making wide-eyes Clark, _"The jig is up!"_

Clark, though, appeared thoroughly unconcerned. In fact, he laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world like a man taking in a sunny day in St. Tropez. Jimmy was trying not to choke as Lois flipped through the pages, her eyes darting from left to right as she read.

"Hmm…" she said, and Jimmy prepared himself for the worst, "It's… okay. The opening paragraph's a bit too stiff, there's some rambling about the escalating prices of fine modern art that isn't necessary and you spend way too much time describing the studio for a human interest piece, but… other than that, it's pretty good."

"What?" said Jimmy.

"I said it's pretty good," said Lois, like the words were torn from her by a deranged dentist, "Although I don't know where you got the time to write the whole piece."

"I'm a fast writer," said Clark.

"Clearly," said Lois, "I'll run this over to a copy boy. You don't have to write it up yourself."

Pulling a face Jimmy recognised all too well – the face of a child who wanted a mountain bike for Christmas and got a sweater instead – Lois swept past him, clutching the notebook. Soon, the sounds of her heels clacking a staccato on the floor disappeared as she left the bullpen.

Jimmy turned to Clark, searching for just the right words to fully express the extent of his confusion.

"Um…" he said, "What the hell?"

"Don't worry about it," said Clark, dropping the cheery demeanour.

"But you…"

"I said don't worry about it."

"But, I don't…"

"Listen, Jimmy," Clark leaned forward, hooking Jimmy with the intensity of his gaze, "We'd better split up for a while. Keep it cool. A low profile. Lois is gonna know something's up. She was way too prepared with that Valencia disaster, so she must know that there's gonna be payback."

"What payback?" said Jimmy, "Do you have a plan?"

"No, but I'll think of something."

"That's it?"

"I'm good at winging it," Clark smirked, and there was absolutely no humour in it.

Jimmy shivered.

"Okay," he said, "Just… don't do anything crazy, alright?"

"I think it's a bit too late for that," said Clark, "Now go find out who Lois switched your flash with. That thing is dangerous."

Jimmy nodded, and beat a hasty retreat. Much like animals with their heightened instincts, Jimmy could sense a storm coming, and he didn't want to be there when it hit.

~*~*~*~*~

"Any plans for the weekend?"

Clark didn't look up as Lois asked the question, keeping his eyes firmly glued to his screen as he pretended to research an article. In truth, he was reading _Calvin and Hobbes_ comics online. He didn't know why. Calvin just cracked him up.

"Nope," he said, "You?"

"Probably just stay in. Movie and some ice-cream."

"Rocky road, plain chocolate or double-caramel crunch?"

"What difference does it make?"

"All the difference in the world."

"Really?"

"Yes, Lois, really," Clark flashed a grin, "Your choice of ice cream's determined by your mood. I just wanna know what I'm in for come Monday morning."

"Oh, you think you know me so well?"

"I do."

Lois chuckled. Rising from her seat, she came around to Clark's side, and perched herself on the end of his desk. Clark leaned back, pursing his lips, refusing to be tempted into gawking at the healthy expanse of thigh on show as her skirt hiked up.

"Planning on using that knowledge anytime soon, Kent?"

Clark frowned, "I don't know what you mean."

"Come on, Clark. I know you too," Lois leaned in real close, "I know you want to get back at me. You started this little game, and you just hate the fact that I'm better at it. So, you're plotting something…"

"You're paranoid, Lois."

"Am I?"

Clark was about to respond when something else caught his attention. A scream. A series of screams – filled to bursting with panic and fear. He tuned in his super-hearing, locating the source of the cries.

"I'm not going to argue with you, Lois," he said, getting quickly to his feet, "There's no feud. We called truce, remember? And to prove it, how about I get us some Chinese? You must be hungry."

Lois just looked at him for a few, terribly long seconds. Clark was anxious to get out of there, but forced his face to remain impassive.

"Okay, Smallville," she said, "Don't forget the fortune cookies."

Clark nodded, and hurried out of the bullpen.

Sighing, Lois returned to her PC, shifting the mouse to clear her screensaver. Automatically she reached over, and turned up the police scanner, as Jimmy ambled over to the desk.

"Where's CK?" asked Jimmy.

"Getting some food," said Lois, "You want me to call him and ask him to bring you some?"

"No thanks," said Jimmy, "I was just checking."

After that, an uncomfortable silence developed. Lois, typing away, refused to look at Jimmy, who stuffed his hands in his pockets, fixed his gaze somewhere over her head and rocked on his heels. Whistling. Actually whistling.

"There something you want to say to me, Jimmy?" she asked, when she couldn't take it anymore.

"Nope," said Jimmy, "Just… hanging out."

"Well, do it quieter. I have a lot of…"

A burst of static from the police scanner interrupted her.

"…_all units respond. A tenement collapsed on South 151__st__. Residents trapped inside. All units…"_

Lois switched it off, "That's Suicide Slums," she said, "Got your camera?"

"Yes," said Jimmy, holding up his case, "With the right flash in."

"I knew something happened at that studio. Clark was being way too cool to…"

For the second time in minutes, Lois was interrupted. This time, by her computer, which beeped as a private message window flashed onto her screen.

"What's this?"

Lois bent forward, peering at the screen. Almost unconsciously, Jimmy leaned in too.

The message was from someone named: _ImpNo1_.

Jimmy and Lois read the message. Then they looked at each other. Then they read the message again.

"What the hell…?" Lois muttered.

"_Tomorrow is the day you die…"_

Lois looked at Jimmy again. Jimmy backed away, his hands coming up in surrender.

"Hey, don't look at me," he said, "I'm standing right here."

"Yeah, but your partner in crime isn't!"

"Clark?" Jimmy scoffed, "He wouldn't do something like this."

"Then what was that freaky phone call a couple nights ago all about?"

"That?" Jimmy squirmed, "That was my idea. CK actually gave me hell about it."

"Yeah, well, looks he's cottoned on to your sense of humour."

The PC beeped again.

"_Be afraid, Lois Lane…"_

Jimmy gulped as he stared at the message. There was no way Clark would be sending these messages. Would he?

Then Jimmy remembered the look in Clark's eyes after they left Valencia's studio. The guy was raging, and a little unhinged.

But still, this was Clark! CK! The Boy Scout!

He would never!

Would he?

Would he?

"Whatever," said Lois, gathering up her purse, "We've got more important things to worry about. Let's go!"

Jimmy had to push the thoughts of a psychotic Clark Kent out of his mind as he gripped his camera case, and followed Lois out of the bullpen.


	14. Chapter 13

~*~

…**thirteen…**

~*~

Clark was waiting for them when they got back. A packet of from Szechuan Palace was on Lois' desk.

"Your food's cold," Clark told her, "I can run it up to the break room and heat it up for you, if you want."

"That's okay," said Lois, as she collapsed into her chair.

Jimmy drew up another chair from a nearby desk and collapsed into that. Clark looked from Lois to Jimmy, noting their identical tired and dazed expressions.

"What's wrong with you guys?"

"A tenement collapsed in Suicide Slums," Lois explained.

"We took a cab, but it broke down ten blocks from the site," said Jimmy, "And you know Suicide Slums at night…"

"Not a cab in sight," said Lois, "So we had to run the whole way. And then, it was a whole big fight getting any quotes out of the firemen on scene. But the good news is, the Blur saved the day."

"He did?" Clark tried to look surprised.

"Yeah," said Jimmy, "No casualties."

"That's great."

Clark noticed Lois opening her notepad, and flipping through her own scribbled observations. He frowned.

"You going to type that up tonight?"

"Have to get it ready for the morning edition," said Lois.

"Okay," said Clark, "I can wait with you. Looks like you're going to be a while."

"No, that's okay," she said, "Thanks for the food, though. Jimmy, you wanna plug in your camera so I can get the pics?"

Jimmy came to stand beside Lois as he unfurled the USB connection that would sync his camera up with the PC. Clark shrugged on his jacket and gave them a tired wave.

"I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Bye."

"Later, CK."

Once Clark had left, Jimmy started downloading the photos he'd captured at the scene. They were pretty good, even if he said so himself. As he waited, Jimmy drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, tapping out the tune to _Happy Days_, for whatever reason.

"Could you please not do that?" asked Lois.

"Not do what?"

"That."

"What?"

"_That!" _

"_What?"_

Lois grunted, and brought a stapler down on his hand. Jimmy squealed and sucked on his fingers. Lois turned back to the screen. There was a beep, and another private message appeared - again from _ImpNo1_.

"_Your last night on this planet. Enjoy it."_

"Okay, this isn't funny anymore!"

Angry now, Lois closed the message. Jimmy still had his fingers in his mouth, staring at the spot on the screen where the message had disappeared.

Lois was right.

It wasn't funny anymore.

~*~*~*~*~

An hour later, Lois was putting the finishing touches on her article. The bullpen was deserted. Everyone else had clocked out long ago. Jimmy, probably fearing more physical trauma, had bailed on Lois after the photos had been transferred.

Her phone rang. Not bothering to check the Caller ID, Lois pressed SEND and put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"_Miss Lane?"_

Another modified voice, but this time Lois recognised it.

"It's you," she half-smiled.

"_I just wanted to check on you," _said the Blur,_ "I saw you tonight, after the building collapsed."_

"You were there?"

"_Yes."_

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you let me know?"

"_That wouldn't be a good idea, Miss Lane."_

"Right," said Lois, "You're all about keeping a distance, aren't you?"

On the roof of the building across the street, Clark was watching her, using his x-ray vision to dissolve the walls, and several floors of the Daily Planet until it looked like she was right in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lane, but these precautions… they're necessary."

Lois didn't respond for a long time. Clark watched her. She used her left hand to hold the phone to her ear as she rubbed her right hand over her eyes. She looked exhausted.

"Miss Lane? Are you okay?"

"_I'm fine," _she said, _"I'm a little tired, that's all. There's just some… things going on."_

"Can I help?"

"_No. Thanks for the offer, but… it's nothing." _again, the half-smile, _"A little conflict with my co-workers. Not Blur-material, really." _

"You mean Clark Kent?" Clark had no idea what prompted him to say that, but once it was out there, there was nothing he could do.

"_You know him?"_

"Uh…" Clark hesitated, "You share a by-line sometimes."

"_Right…__"_

"What did he do?"

Clark bit his lip as soon as he asked the question. This was cheating. Using his relationship with Lois as the Blur to get some sort of traction in their on-going battle.

Clark opened his mouth, ready to tell her not to answer that. That the question was invasive, and she should really just ignore it, when Lois spoke up:

"_He can just be so… childish, and annoying sometimes! The way he always has to be right! Well, he picked the wrong fight this time!"_

Clark bit his lip again, but for a different reason.

"I'm sure he's not that bad."

"_Smallville? You have no idea.," _Lois was on a roll now,_ "We've been having these… problems, and he's walking around like some whipped puppy, feeling sorry for himself. Nevermind that he started it! Nevermind that I'm the victim here! Nevermind that…"_

"Yeah, I get it," Clark cut her off. Because if let her carry on he was going to lose it and start screaming at her – as the Blur.

"_Sometimes, I just wish he was more like you, you know?"_

"Me?"

Clark was thrown. That was a new one.

"_Yeah, you're so… selfless, and honourable…" _she was almost drooling now, _"I'm sure you wouldn't stoop to the petty pranks that Clark's been pulling."_

"Miss Lane, I have to go. Duty calls."

Clark cut the call quickly. He was on the verge of hyperventilating.

So… he was petty, was he?

Walking around like whipped puppy!

While the Blur was all brave, and noble and honourable!

Well, if the Blur was so freakin' great, why didn't she just marry him and have his babies?

It would have done absolutely no good to point out to Clark that he was, in fact, the Blur. In that moment, his anger overrode his logic as his mind ticked away on a sudden, dangerous new course.

He had an idea.

He smiled.

Lex Luthor would have been proud of that smile.


	15. Chapter 14

~*~

…**fourteen…**

~*~

Morrie was the night watchman at the Daily Planet. At seventy two years of age, there was not much Morrie could do if anyone did, in fact, try to break in. But he'd had the job since the Kennedy administration, and everyone liked him, so nobody made a fuss about it.

For the past year, something had occurred that changed Morrie's routine. A routine he'd painstakingly developed over the years until he could make his rounds in his sleep – which is very close to what he actually did most nights.

Every Tuesday, young Masters Olsen and Kent, and the lovely Miss Lane would buy him a sandwich and sit with him when he came by to start his shift. They would talk. Morrie would tell them stories about life at the Planet before computers, and cellphones, when newspapermen were _real_ newspapermen and it meant something to get the ink stamped and the paper on the streets for the newsies to start hocking.

Every Tuesday.

Once, when Morrie asked them why, they said it was for the metaphor. Morrie didn't get what they meant, but he didn't care. They were friends. They were newspaper people. They were family.

Usually, all three worked late, but that night, Morrie was more than a little surprised when young Clark Kent entered the building at midnight. Morrie had just finished his second sweep, and was settling in behind his desk in the plush reception area.

"Master Kent," he said, "It's a bit past your bedtime, isn't it?"

"I think I can handle it, Morrie," said Clark, flashing him a smile, "Does that old offset machine in the storage room still work?"

"Sure it does," said Morrie, "If ya know what'cha doin'."

"I think I can figure it out. Thanks Morrie."

Clark headed off in the direction of the elevator banks. Morrie smiled, and settled in, keeping an eye on the monitors set into the desk in front of him.

That Kent boy sure is a nice kid, he thought.

~*~*~*~*~

Super speed comes in handy for all sorts of things, not just getting places fast. For example, you can Google, then read and memorise an entire manual teaching you exactly how to use a pre-1990 offset machine to print multiple copies of a newspaper. You can also import pictures into a standard photo-editing programme and adjust it to your needs, while typing up the necessary copy and faking a masthead.

Yes, all these things can be done in mere minutes, if you had super speed.

Fortunately for Clark, he had it.

In under half an hour he was done. He looked at his handiwork, and he was pleased. The only thing left was to distribute the copies.

Upstairs, even if Morrie was paying close attention to the monitors, he wouldn't have seen Clark dropping copies of his news-sheet on every desk for two floors. Clark was just moving too fast.

Super speed again.

It really comes in handy.


	16. Chapter 15

~*~

…**fifteen…**

~*~

Morrie was gone by the time Lois got in the next morning.

She was still so focused on her conversation with the Blur the night before that she didn't really notice anything, or anyone around her as she made her way through the lobby and into the elevator.

Why had the Blur cut her off so abruptly?

The obvious answer was that there was someone in need of saving somewhere, and he'd Blurred off to do what he does. But Lois had a feeling there was more to it than that. She didn't know why she thought this. It was just a feeling. But she fancied that she'd come to know a little something about Metropolis' Out-of-Focus superhero through their conversations. Even though his voice was obviously altered, his tone wasn't. And Lois had detected… something in his voice last night.

Annoyance, maybe?

Lois was put off thinking about it further when she finally noticed the people in the elevator around her. At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone was facing forward, newspapers and briefcases clutched in their hands. Then Lois looked closer. Instead of staring up at the panel of flashing numbers above the door, they were either looking at Lois, or at the floor as they sniggered amongst themselves. Lois didn't know what to make of it.

The strange reception continued after she got off the elevator. On the way to her desk, people would stop as she passed them, and laugh. Dan the Obit guy almost choked on a doughnut when he saw her coming. It was starting to get really annoying.

Swinging on Dan, Lois demanded to know what the hell was going on.

Dan hid behind his newspaper.

That's when Lois noticed it.

First off, Dan wasn't reading the Daily Planet. The masthead on the paper claimed to be The Inquisitor. As if that wasn't strange enough, the photo on the front page was of Lois herself.

A very pregnant Lois!

Lois just stared for a good ten seconds. Then, finally able to breathe, she whipped across the room and snatched the paper out of Dan's hands.

"Gee, Lois," he said, "When can we expect the little guy to come zooming into our lives?"

Lois ignored him. She was too busy staring in absolute horror at the headline.

"_ROOKIE TABLOID REPORTER TO HAVE THE BLUR'S BABY!"_

Lois was gasping for air again. The photo was just so… cheesy, and obviously photo-shopped. The story itself told about the growing romance between the hero and the woman who'd sent out a desperate plea in her own newspaper, begging him to talk to her. Obviously, her entreaty had borne results… with the reporter now carrying a child that was developing at a surprisingly _fast_ rate!

"What the hell?"

Lois looked around. People were openly pointing and laughing now. A deep flush started at the base of her neck and worked it's way slowly upwards until her face was burning.

Lois' embarrassment lasted a total of two seconds before anger took over.

"One word!" she announced to the room at large, "Just one word and I'll get my father to send in a strike team that'll take out this building, and everyone in it, I swear to God!"

Everyone shut up.

Clark and Jimmy chose that moment to saunter into the bullpen.

"_You!"_

Lois stormed over to them, the fury blazing out of her eyes with such intensity that Clark took a step backward. Unfortunately, Jimmy was just behind him and Clark tripped. They both ended up in a tangled heap on the floor.

"_You did this!"_

Lois rolled up the paper and started hitting them with it, like a demented dog-owner disciplining her errant Yorkies. She struck every piece of yielding flesh she could reach.

Needless to say, Jimmy got the worst of it. He was yelping, and scrabbling on the floor, trying to get away from the irate Lois.

"Lois, stop!" Clark yelled, "We don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm talking about _this!_" Lois chucked the offensive newspaper at them.

Clark gave the front page a cursory once-over, for appearance's sake. He knew it off by heart already. After all, he wrote it.

"You think we did this?"

"Of course I do!" she screamed, "It's obviously fake!"

"Why would you say that?"

"The Inquisitor changed that masthead two years ago, you moron! Couldn't you have bothered to check on that first?"

"Oh," Clark looked sheepish, "They did?"

"CK…" Jimmy's voice was strangely muffled, "Can you, er… get off me, please?"

Clark disentangled himself from Jimmy, and helped him to his feet. They straightened out their clothes and looked around. Nobody was working. Their co-workers were watching them, like they were players in some bizarre piece of street theatre.

"Okay," said Clark, "That's it. Show's over."

The gathered staff looked disappointed, but returned to their own tasks. Clark turned back to Lois. She was so angry, Clark could imagine steam coming out of her nostrils like a character in old cartoon.

"This is _so_ not over…!" she hissed.

"Yes, it is, Lois," said Clark, "Look… you got us – we got you, let's just… let's just end this, okay?"

"Hey, I didn't have anything to do with this!" said Jimmy.

"It's not over until I say it's over!" Lois snapped.

She grabbed the newspaper from Clark's hand, smacked Clark and Jimmy once more over the head, and steamrolled out. Clark looked at Jimmy.

"You think I went a little overboard?" he asked.

"Just a little," said Jimmy, rubbing at his rapidly bruising cheekbone.

Now, Clark felt guilty. Yes, he'd been embarrassed by Lois' set-up with the demented artist, but at least his embarrassment had been private. Nobody but Jimmy was there to witness it. Yet Clark had taken Lois' devotion to the Blur and turned it against her – in a public forum. It was a really low blow, and Clark wasn't sure how he'd ever make it up to her.

"I just have one question," said Jimmy, "If this was what you were planning, what was with the messages on Lois' computer?"

"What messages?" said Clark.

_Uh oh…_


	17. Chapter 16

~*~

…**sixteen…**

~*~

"The day just got worse from there," said Jimmy.

Tess watched the young man from her perch across the desk. He was slumped into the chair, the top two buttons of his shirt undone and he was slick with sweat. Also, he hadn't looked at her for fifteen minutes. Instead, he related his tale to a spot on the wall above her head – a distant, horrified gleam in his eye as though he were reliving every tragic moment. Despite herself, Tess almost started feeling sorry for him.

She leaned forward. Jimmy caught the motion and flinched. Tess tried to give him a reassuring smile. It didn't work. Jimmy just gulped and looked away again. Tess pushed a button on her phone and buzzed her secretary.

"Marjorie… could you bring Mr. Olsen some water, please?"

Releasing the button, Tess looked at Jimmy.

"Still, or sparkling?" she asked.

"What?" Jimmy looked like he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Still or sparkling?" Tess repeated herself.

"I… er… wh… bu… I mean… I… Still sparkling."

Tess just looked at him, and waited.

"Still," he said, "Definitely… definitely still…"

Then Jimmy burst into tears.

Tess was horrified.

"Jimmy, it's okay, it's just water."

But Jimmy wasn't listening. His shoulders shook as great, convulsing sobs took over. He pressed his hands to his face and wailed, like a little boy who'd lost his mommy.

Tess had no idea what to do.

"There, there…" she crooned.

That didn't seem to work. Jimmy just cried harder.

"Why don't you just tell me the rest of the story?" she suggested, "Then this whole thing can be over with."

Jimmy nodded, trying to curb the flow of tears.

"I'm sorry," he choked, "It's just… it's been so traumatic, you know? I mean, there was the wedding, and that psycho medic and then the artist, and Lois, and Lois hitting me, and now you, and I just don't know what to do anymore!"

Tess waited for him to calm down. Her secretary brought Jimmy his water, and after a few gulps, he seemed to settle. Wiping his eyes with his sleeves, Jimmy found the strength to carry on.

"After she found the fake article, Lois disappeared for an hour," he said.

"Where did she go?"

"She went to get something at home," said Jimmy, "She'd made it a while ago on her computer. There's this programme, with all these voices, and music… I don't know how it works, but that only came later."

"What happened before that?"

"War…" said Jimmy, in the sunken, hollow tone of those who've stared into the face of the beast… and blinked, "Five incidents. It's amazing how much a motivated person can do in a short space of time. And Lois and Clark…? They were motivated. What they did was silly when you think about it, but… that's what it was. It was war."


	18. Chapter 17

~*~

…**seventeen…**

~*~

* * *

PRIVATE: LEVEL N32 – EYES ONLY

THE PEOPLE VS LOIS AND CLARK

THE FINAL DAY

GUERRILLA WARFARE

* * *

INCIDENT ALPHA

* * *

Suspect Kent returned from the vending machine where witnesses report that he bought a Snickers bar. Suspect Lane was at her desk, studiously ignoring Suspect Kent. Suspect Kent couldn't give a crap.

Upon his desk, Suspect Kent found a phone message: _Urgent! Call Mr Lyon, RE: Space in cages! Urgent! 232-555-6197_

The double use of the word 'Urgent' prompted Suspect Kent to call the number immediately. The conversation is transcribed below:

Voice: Hello?

Kent: Hi, this Clark Kent calling from the Daily Planet. I'd like to speak to Mr Lyon, please?

Voice: Excuse me?

Kent: I have a message here to call Mr Lyon.

Voice: Is this some sort of joke?

Kent: Er… No, sir. Is this 232-555-6197?

Voice: It is.

Kent: Then it's not a mistake. I have a message saying I should call Mr Lyon regarding the space in the cages.

_It must be noted that at this point, Suspect Lane was having trouble trying not to laugh her ass off. _

Voice: Buddy, why don't you do us both a favour, and get your giggles somewhere else, okay?

Kent: I'm sorry, who am I speaking to?

Voice: This is the Metropolis Zoo.

End of transcription.

* * *

INCIDENT BRAVO

* * *

Suspect Lane was also subjected to the heinous mode of attrition warfare known as 'The Phone Prank'. Suspect Lane received several calls and emails throughout the duration of the day, asking her to – and these are direct quotations:

"Play nice with Daddy Dong-Is-Long…"

"Breathe heavy… No, no… heavier! Come on, you can do better than that!"

"Show me the spot to touch that makes you feel like you stuck your tongue in a wall socket."

"That's not heavy breathing. Now you're just screaming at me."

After the tenth call, Suspect Kent admitted to registering Miss Lane on X-Rated call-in service, using her private number.

After the admission, Miss Lane received an email, which contained a standard jpeg image of an unknown fiftyish male's glutious maximus, and a description of exactly where Suspect Lane was supposed to apply the chocolate cream.

Suspect Kent then announced that maybe, he kinda, sorta registered her on an online service as well.

It was at this point that Suspect Lane tried to staple Suspect Kent's ears to his head. She was restrained by concerned co-workers.

* * *

INCIDENT CHARLIE

* * *

Suspect Lane waited for Suspect Kent outside the men's room. Immediately upon Suspect Kent exiting the men's room, Suspect Lane splashed a glass of water down the front of Suspect Kent's pants. Suspect Lane was heard remarking:

"It's an oldie, but it's a goodie."

Suspect Kent had to again retire to the men's room, where he attempted to use the mounted hand dryer to dry the stain.

Suspect Kent's behaviour was witnessed by three other employees, who subsequently put in for compassionate leave, claiming: _"Mental Trauma"_ as the cause.

* * *

INCIDENT DELTA

* * *

Suspect Kent returned early from lunch and – with a speed hitherto unforeseen, and highly suspicious – proceeded to scramble all the letters on Suspect Lane's keyboard.

In addition, Suspect Kent glued the caps onto all Suspect Lane's pens and replaced her desktop wallpaper and screensaver with pictures of the Seven Dwarfs from _Disney's Snow White:_ (it must here be noted that Suspect Lane has an undiagnosed phobia regarding the popular movie character known as "Doc", stating that it is "…creepy that someone with a medical degree would hang out with a bunch of coalminers.").

Also, Suspect Kent joined up all 352 of Suspect Lane's paperclips, an act which infuriated Suspect Lane to the point where she attempted to use the resultant metal string as a lasso on Suspect Kent.

Suspect Kent ducked.

Dan the Obit guy, a co-worker of both suspects, was admitted to hospital to receive stitches.

* * *

INCIDENT ECHO

* * *

The final recorded incident of the day.

Upon receiving verified proof that Suspect Kent had indeed removed her phone number from the aforementioned X-rated call-in service, Suspect Lane proceeded to change the ringtone on her cellphone.

Suspect Lane substituted her old favourite _"You're Gonna Break My Heart Again"_ by the popular rock and roll group _Whitesnake_ with a track she apparently recorded herself using readily-available software on her personal computer.

Suspect Lane then placed her cellphone in a strategic position on her desk where Suspect Kent was sure to hear it ring, and then called her own number from her office line.

It is now understood that the lyrics to the song have some personal bearing on Suspect Kent's private life. The lyrics went like thus:

_Clarkie doesn't know_

_ That Lana and Lex_

_ Did it on his desk every Tuesday_

_ She told him she was chaste_

_ Not a lying ho_

_ A rich bald man's freak, and_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Don't tell Clarkie_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Lana said she couldn't trust him_

_ With a DVD_

_ She just concussed him_

_ Still Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

_ Don't tell Clarkie_

_ It'll be a freak show_

_ Clarkie doesn't know_

Suspect Kent was so upset he retired to the men's room once again. Several witnesses report that they heard sobbing emanating from one of the stalls. Upon his return, Suspect Kent found that Suspect Lane had distributed the song to all of her fellow co-workers and, using coercion techniques previously thought the reserve of the Special Forces Unit of the United States Army, convinced them to save it as their own ringtones. It must be noted here that Suspect Kent ended the day vowing to take Suspect Lane down if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

HERE ENDS THIS REPORT

STATUS: CLASSIFIED AND DISTURBING 


	19. Chapter 18

~*~

…**eighteen…**

~*~

Clark was already home when he got the call.

Lois had stayed behind at the office to catch up on the work they'd missed that day, but Clark was so mad he couldn't bring himself to be in the same building with her. Instead, he sequestered himself in his loft, dreaming up revenge schemes – each one more outlandish than the last.

Strangely enough, he found himself humming as his mind wandered.

"_Dun-de-dun-dun-dun… Dun-de-dun-dun-dun-dun… Dun-de-dun-dun-dun-dun-de-dun-dun…"_

He realised – too late – that he was humming the tune from Lois' freakin' song! Clark was just about punch a hole through his own wall when his phone rang.

It was Jimmy.

"CK! Have you left the office yet?"

"Yeah, Jimmy… why?"

"You gotta turn around and get back there! I'm on my way right now!"

The panic in Jimmy's voice was unmistakable. Something had set him off.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

"It's Lois."

Clark gritted his teeth, "What about her?"

He had to fake the need to actually care.

"I just got a call from Chloe," Jimmy explained, "She's freaking out. Something about… she was on a call with Lois, and there was something about these messages she's been getting… And someone showed up. CK, I think she's in trouble. For real this time."

"Jimmy, wait, slow down," said Clark, "Are these the same messages you were telling me about?"

"Yeah, I saw them. They were creepy. Real threatening. Saying things like… she's gonna die today."

"How do we know it's not just a trick?"

"We don't, but…" Jimmy's voice was cracked, and not from the cellphone reception, "Why would Chloe call? And you know Lois. If she could tick us off that much, imagine what she could do to someone she didn't like!"

That was all the persuading Clark needed.

"I'll be right there," he said.

~*~*~*~*~

The lights were out when Clark arrived. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing was the silence.

The darkness didn't bother Clark that much. He could see just fine. And what he saw… he really didn't like.

Chairs overturned. A heap of stuff, from his desk, and Lois' desk knocked to the floor.

Evidence of a struggle.

Fighting his own rising panic, Clark called out to her… "Lois? Lois, are you here?"

Nothing.

Engaging his x-ray vision, Clark did a quick scan.

His heart stopped.

In the storage closet…

A shape…

Dead still…

Slumped in the corner…

"LOIS!"

Clark flashed across the room, whipping open the door. The faint light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling only cast more shadows.

It was a scene straight from Clark's worst nightmares.

Blood everywhere.

Blood on her.

The knife still lodged into her side.

Her head lolling, her eyes closed…

Clark sank to his knees, not giving even a bit of a damn that he was getting blood all over himself.

"Lois…"

The tears came unbidden, in a rush that he didn't think would ever end when…

Lois lifted her head and shouted: "BOO!"

Clark choked. His heart going like a jackhammer, threatening to burst through his ribcage. He just stared at the grinning face in front of him, his mind still swirling, bare remnants of thoughts chasing each other, like dogs after cars.

Then he heard laughter.

Still in a numb haze, Clark turned around. Chloe was stumbling across to him, clutching her side, laughing like a proverbial hyena. Lois joined in. Clark couldn't believe it, swinging from one to the other, all he could do was try and concentrate on breathing again.

"You… you were in on this?"

"Of course," said Chloe, through the cackling, "As soon as Lois told me about that fake article you published, and how you'd teamed up with Jimmy, I had to even the odds."

"So… you…?"

"Sent the messages? Yup!"

Clark looked at Lois again. She was still giggling. She pointed her index finger, and scooped up a smear of blood from the floor. She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked loudly.

"Yum…" she moaned, "Corn syrup…"

Clark shook his head.

Without a word, he stood, and walked away. He didn't look back. He didn't see the first stirrings of guilt cross Lois' face.


	20. Chapter 19

~*~

…**nineteen…**

~*~

"Help! Can anybody help me? Please!"

Jimmy pounded on the doors of the elevator. He knew it would do no good. As soon as he'd stepped inside, he'd heard a funny noise, coming from somewhere in the ceiling. Then he felt a lurch. Then the whole car just jerked to a stop, trapping him there.

Jimmy knew the signs. He'd been here before – with Chloe – stuck in this same stupid, moronic, idiotic elevator.

At least there was no bomb this time.

Giving the doors one final kick, Jimmy flung himself to the floor, and settled down to wait.

~*~*~*~*~

"That's where maintenance found me," said Jimmy, "They found the chair with the melted wheels wedged in the ceiling. And then they brought me up here."

Jimmy watched Tess' eyes, searching for any hint of whether she believed his story or not.

"I swear," he pleaded, "That's it. That's everything. And I'm sorry, just… please don't fire me!"

Tess didn't respond. She pursed her lips, her fingers steepled in front of her in a way that reminded Jimmy eerily of Lex Luthor. Jimmy gulped, and awaited his fate.

"I'm not going to fire you, Jimmy," she said, at last.

"Come again?"

"I said, I'm not going to fire you."

"You're not?"

Jimmy's relief was total, and hit him like a flood. He exhaled, long and loud, shutting his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.

"You are on probation, though," Tess went on, "Kent and Lane too. I can't have my staff gallivanting around like this."

"Yes, ma'am, no more shenaniganing…" said Jimmy, almost falling out of his chair and backing away to the door, "This is a serious workplace for serious, um… workers. I get it. No more. Never again. Thank you, your red-headedness, you have no idea how much I…"

"Just get out, Olsen," said Tess, already turning her attention to something else.

Jimmy was more than happy to oblige.


	21. Epilogue

~*~

…**epilogue…**

~*~

Clark was in his loft when Lois found him.

He was standing by the window, his back straight, head up in that stiff, unyielding pose she'd thought she'd seen the last of since Lana departed the scene.

Lois supposed that was her own fault. She'd brought him back to this.

"Clark?"

Clark made no sign that he'd heard her.

"Smallville?"

Still, he stood. He didn't move a muscle. Lois sighed.

She crossed the floor slowly, almost hesitant to see his face. She didn't want to look at the tight line of his jaw, and the hurt in his eyes – knowing she'd caused it.

The last prank was that one step too far.

Lois should have known that that's what it would take. Lois being in danger was something Clark would not tolerate.

But that was one of the things she lov–

"_No!" she thought, "Don't go there, Lois!"_

Instead, she just walked quietly up beside him, and took his hand. After eternities, Clark turned to look at her. Sure enough – that firm line, that terrible hurt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Clark bowed his head. Unable to bear this, Lois took his chin in her hand, lifting his head so he could meet her earnest gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said, again, "I didn't think it would affect you that much."

"Are you kidding?"

He sounded so tortured. Lois' heart broke.

"Thinking you were dead…" he shook his head, "Seeing you lying there. The one person in the whole world that I…"

He stopped. Lifting his hand out of hers, he faced away, toward the sunset.

"The person that you what, Clark?"

This time, he could only give her a sidelong glance. A softness creeped back into his features. A shyness that only made her ache all the more.

"Are you telling me you don't know?" he whispered, "How I feel about you?"

Lois held her breath.

Was he…?

Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

"Lois, I…"

It seemed like he didn't have the strength to say it out loud. Instead, he actually smiled – the softest smile.

And then he was leaning in.

His lips inching closer to hers…

Agonisingly…

Inevitably…

Lois shuttered her eyes, pursing her own lips.

In anticipation…

Of the moment when…

Clark stopped, a bare inch away.

He grinned.

"Gotcha!"


End file.
